


i wanna be somebody to someone (someone to you)

by aryasbitch



Series: but you're a king and i'm a lion-heart [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Season/Series 01 AU, how do you tag correctly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:42:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24364510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aryasbitch/pseuds/aryasbitch
Summary: Her smile returns and she brings a hand up to the one Tommen has placed on her shoulder, lacing their fingers and letting their hands drop to between them, still joined.And in that moment, just for a second, they are not Prince Tommen Baratheon of King's Landing or Lady Arya Stark of Winterfell. They are just a boy and a girl, holding hands in an empty hall, matching smiles on their faces and hammering hearts inside their chest.Arya and Tommen grow closer following her father's death
Relationships: Arya Stark & Sansa Stark, Myrcella Baratheon & Arya Stark, Myrcella Baratheon/Tyene Sand, Tommen Baratheon/Arya Stark
Series: but you're a king and i'm a lion-heart [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1749847
Comments: 4
Kudos: 55





	i wanna be somebody to someone (someone to you)

**Author's Note:**

> title is from "someone to you" by banners  
> this is a direct sequel to "i only want to be the sun for you" and will make the most sense if you read that first

In the weeks following her father's death, Arya is confined to her room, per Joffrey’s rule. She has been made an official prisoner of the Lannisters, even if no one has outright said it to her. It has been made obvious with the guards stationed outside the door, how her only visit had been Tommen the day her father died.

Arya had hoped Tommen would be able to visit her at the very least, but the blonde hasn't made an appearance since the first day she was confined as a prisoner. And without Nymeria, Arya is truly alone in her rooms.

She spends the days practicing water dancing, twisting and turning in familiar footsteps and motions until she drops to the floor in exhaustion. When she is too tired to complete the motions after hours of practicing them with Needle, she will try with Rhaenys, twirling it between her fingers until it does not slip from her grasp and throwing it at a wooden box across the room until it lands right where she wants it to.

Some days she will look out the small windows overlooking the gardens, where she will sometimes see Myrcella or her sister walking. If the windows were any bigger, she may have been able to sneak out through the opening, but it is too small and too far above the ground for her to even attempt it.

-

The first time Arya is allowed to leave is nearly a full month after her father's death. The handmaiden she has been assigned is named Ayana and helps Arya get ready for the trip outside her room. 

Arya hates having a handmaiden, hates even more how it means she will be put into some fancy dress and hairstyle, but the girl herself is kind and usually keeps her hair as simple as possible upon Arya’s request. She continues to call her “My Lady,” to Arya’s chagrin, despite multiple pleadings to simply call her Arya.

“Do you know why I’ve been asked to leave today, Ayana?” She winces as Ayana pulls her hair a bit too tightly, the hair being twisted up out of her face.

“Yes My Lady. Princess Myrcella is set to leave for Dorne today, and has requested you to say goodbye to.” The shock of her words stops Arya from correcting the use of her title, but she refrains from moving to look at her handmaiden so Ayana will not scold her for messing up her hair. 

“Dorne? When will she return?” Ayana meets her eyes in the mirror, and her lips turn down in a somber frown.

“I do not know, My Lady. She is set to be betrothed to Tyene Martell when she arrives in Dorne, as Princess Tyene was recently legitimized under her father's decree.” Ayana finishes with Arya’s hair, the result being the front pieces braided and twisted away to meet at the back of her head. Arya stands from her seat and steps into her corset, placing her hands against her bed frame so Ayana can tighten the bodice.

“Her father… Oberyn Martell, correct? And her mother is Ellaria.” 

“Yes, My Lady. They rule the Iron Islands, but Princess Tyene and Princess Myrcella will rule Dorne when they pass.” 

The two eldest of Oberyn’s daughters, Obara and Nymeria, had died years prior, and Arya knows Tyene to be the future ruler of Dorne. Ayana finishes with her bodice, and helps her step into her required dress, one of pale blue with sleeves that go to her wrists.

“King Joffrey of the Seven Kingdoms, Princess Myrcella of Dorne. What of Prince Tommen?” Arya levels her voice to sound uninterested, as if they were talking about the weather, but Ayana sends her a knowing smirk anyways. “Don’t give me that look Ayana.” Arya scoffs, but it lacks malice.

“I do not know Lady Arya.” Ayana responds through her quiet giggles, “Perhaps he will marry a Queen of his own. There is a Lady I’ve heard whispers of him being interested in.” Arya refuses to turn, though her eyes widen in surprise. 

“Which Lady is that? Don’t tell me it's my sister. She’s already engaged to Joffrey, shit that he is.” Ayana gasps at her words, but both girls break into peals of laughter after a moment of silence.

“My Lady! Such cruel words against your King.” Ayana shakes her head fondly at Arya, stepping back and admiring the look of Arya in her dress and southern hairstyle.

Arya arches an eyebrow up at her, “You haven't answered my question about Tommen.”

“I meant you, Lady Arya.” Another fit of laughter erupts from Ayana as Arya stares at her in bewilderment, cheeks coloring despite her best wishes.

“Me?” Arya asks incredulously, “Tommen does not look at me in that way!”

“Yes he does! I heard him talking to Princess Myrcella about how he missed you a few days past!” Ayana insists, even as Arya shakes her head with still pink cheeks.

“He does not. He surely didn't mean it in the way you are saying he did.” Ayana continues to giggle, Arya joining before a sharp knock at her door causes them to die down. A guard enters her room to bring her down to Myrcella, and Ayana nods politely at Arya and the guard before exiting the room.

Arya is led down to the docks, where the Lannisters and her sister already stand. She is placed beside Tommen, who she smiles warmly at. She looks back to send her sister a smile as well, a look of relief blooming over the redheads face at her sister looking well and standing.

Myrcella is in the middle of hugging her mother, but as they part she sees Arya and meets her at her spot to embrace her. Tears stream down the blonde’s face and Arya hears her sob weakly as they bring their arms around each other. 

Not only have they not seen each other in a month, but now they are seeing just for Myrcella to depart for who knows how long.

“I will miss you so much.” Myrcella whispers in her ear, and Arya tightens her arms around her. Her own eyes brim with tears as she nods against Myrcella's hair and whispers back.

“I will miss you as well, dearest. Please write to me, whenever you can, about everything you experience, or Princess Tyene, or even about the weather.” Myrcella chokes on another sob and pulls back, Arya’s hand coming up to brush away a few tears from Myrcella's face.

Myrcella nods frantically, stating, “I promise.” She pulls back completely to throw herself at Tommen, who is already crying and hugs his sister as tight he can. When they part, Myrcella spares Joffrey a brief nod before she steps onto the boat, the men from Dorne on the boat helping her to settle in her seat. 

The tears cascading down Tommen’s cheeks make her heart hurt, and so Arya links her arms with his and allows him to lean into her. It is not quite the hug she wishes to give him, but it will do for now.

“You sound like a cat mewling for his mother. Princes don't cry.” Arya turns to Joffrey to yell at him, or possibly stab him, but her sister beats her to it.

“I saw you cry.” Her voice is quiet, but strong, and her chin does not waver as Joffrey turns to look at her in fury. Arya's eyes widen in delight at Sansa’s words, mouth falling the slightest bit open in shock. She and Tommen share a look of subtle glee, his mouth turning up the slightest bit even as a few more tears slip down his face.

“Did you say something, My Lady?” Joffrey turns to Sansa fully.

“My little brother cried when my sister and I left Winterfell.” 

“So?” Arya wants to smack him clear across the face.

“It seems a normal thing.” Arya smiles as Sansa’s voice hardens.

Joffrey continues with disgust, “Is your little brother a prince?” Sansa shakes her head no, and Joffrey spits out, “Not really relevant then, is it?” as if _Sansa_ is the stupid one. 

Arya has to close her eyes and take a deep breath to resist skewering him with the dagger hidden in her sleeve. She and Sansa make eye contact, both sharing a look of frustration before Arya turns back.

As Joffrey leaves with Meryn Trant, he sends her a look of disgust, one she matches full force. He has the decency to look unnerved at the murderous glare she gives him before he continues up the stairs and away from her.

-

The next day, Arya’s presence is requested again, but this time by Joffrey. Ayana places her in a dress of emerald green, one with a high neck and lace covering the entire top half of it. Her hair is once again pulled back from her face, the braids tight against her scalp but a few strands escaping the front and framing her face.

For this occasion, unlike yesterday, Ayana has been summoned as well, and the two walk together while chatting quietly. When they enter the Great Hall, both fall silent. Sansa is seated on her knees in front of Joffrey, who is aiming a crossbow at her. 

The room is full of people, and Arya spots The Hound, Meryn Trant, and Sansa’s handmaidens off to the side. Tommen is nowhere to be seen.

The entire room turns to look at Arya as she enters the room with Ayana by her side, the latter leaving her side to stand with Sansa’s handmaiden. Arya, however, heads to her sister's side, who looks up at her with tears in her eyes. She kneels down beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder before looking up at Joffrey.

“What is going on here?”

“You will address me with my proper title, you bitch.” Joffrey practically shouts at her, and Arya’s lips curve into a snarl.

“Fine. What is going on here, _Your Grace_?”

Joffrey matches her snarl, although he resembles something more of a weak dog than a wolf, as Arya’s is. “I was telling your Lady Sister of your traitorous brother's outrageous actions. Ser Lancel, tell them of this outrage.”

“Using some vile sorcery, your brother fell on Stafford Lannister with an army of wolves. Thousands of good men were butchered.” Arya does not turn at Ser Lancel's words, instead brushing tears off of her sister's face and hugging her close to her body. “After the slaughter, the Northmen feasted on the flesh of the slain.” 

Horrified gasps fill the room but Arya pays them no mind, instead turning to Joffrey.

“That's a lie! The Northmen are people, not animals or cannibals.” Joffrey tightens his grip on the crossbow.

“Did I ask you to speak? I should punish you for speaking your tongue. Killing one of you _would_ send your brother a message.” Sansa cries out quietly beside her, and Arya turns back to her, tightening her grasp on her sister. “But my mother insists on keeping you alive. Stand.” 

Arya can practically hear him rolling his eyes but stands with her sister. She does not step away, simply takes the redheads hand in her grasp and interlocks their fingers. Sansa grasps tightly, breathing shakily.

“So, we'll send your brother a message some other way. Lancel, take Lady Arya. Meryn, take Lady Sansa.” The two men step forward, and Arya is unable to react before she is grabbed from behind and wrenched away from her sister. Meryn steps to Sansa, only pausing when Joffrey addresses him. “Leave her face. I like her pretty.”

Arya shrieks as Meryn draws back his hand and punches Sansa in the stomach, her sister kneeling over with the force of it. Lancel tightens his grip behind her so she can not move from his grasp. When he grasps his sword and uses the butt of it to hit Sansa in the leg, sending her to the floor, Arya reacts. 

She stomps on Lancel’s foot, throwing her head and elbows back to try and catch him in any possible way. He shouts and stumbles, and Arya uses it to pull herself out of his arms, rushing towards her sister and Meryn. 

When she grabs at his sword, knocking it from his grasp in his shock at her sudden presence, he reacts by punching Arya clear across the face. Sansa shrieks from behind her as she lands on her hands and arse, torso twisted so she is half-sitting while kneeling over.

Arya looks up as footsteps come closer just for Meryn to kick her in the stomach, ribs on fire as she lands on her back and her head knocks against the floor. She can barely hear Joffrey commanding, “Unburden her.” as she sits up and tries to keep her vision from spinning.

She reaches a hand to her head, feeling no blood but a rush of dizziness rushing to her as she leans a hand against the ground. The hand clutching her head flies to her ribs as she takes a deep breath, and it feels as if her chest is collapsing, a rib clearly broken within her chest. 

Arya turns at the sound of ripping, seeing her sisters dress torn down the back by Meryn. She wants to get up and push him off, but she can only feel a wave of dull anger through the swarm of her vision.

“If you want Robb Stark to hear us, you’re going to have to speak louder!” She sees Meryn pull his sword, raising it above his head as if to strike Sansa and comes to her senses enough to drag herself to her sister's side before a new voice cuts across the room.

“What is the meaning of this?” Arya and Sansa turn to see Tyrion striding towards them, a man Arya doesn't know the name of by his side, along with-

_Tommen. Thank the gods._

A wave of relief washes over her at the sight of the blonde, and she can make out clear concern on his face as the trio nears.

“What kind of knight beats two helpless girls?” Tyrion asks as Tommen crouches down to run a concerned hand over Arya's face and turns to Sansa, not looking away until both have nodded to show they are both alright.

“The kind who serves his king, imp!” Arya hears Meryn spit out, and she turns her face to glare at him.

“Careful now, we don't want to get blood all over your pretty white cloak.” Arya smirks at the unnamed man's words, although it dies as she turns back to Tommen. Her smirks wash away into a genuine smile instead, albeit soft. 

Tommen’s own face softens to mirror her expression. She ignores the heat of his gentle hand on her wrist.

“Someone get the girl something to cover herself with. She is to be your queen.” Tyrion's command leads the Hound to rip off his cloak and make his way over to Sansa. Arya watches Tyrion instead, as he walks up the steps halfway and practically yells at the king. “Have you no regard for her honor. Or her sister’s?”

“I am punishing them!” Arya barely resists rolling her eyes at Joffrey's words. 

“For what crimes! They did not fight their brothers' battle, your halfwit!” Arya is thankful they have Tyrion to defend them, despite how she hates that it's a man who must come to their rescue. But his outright insult of the king brings a smile to her face nonetheless.

“You can’t talk to me like that! The king can do as he likes!” Joffrey sounds like a whiny child, truly.

Joffrey turns to walk back to his throne but hesitates as Tyrion talks again. “The mad king did as he liked. Has your uncle Jaime ever told you what happened to him?” Joffrey settles into his throne and stares down at his uncle. 

Meryn steps forward and places a hand on his sword, declaring, “No one threatens his grace in the presence of the Kingsgaurd!” Arya cannot help the aggravated huff she lets out, even as the entire room turns to look at her.

Arya’s voice is loud and cold as she says, “Lord Tyrion is not threatening him, he is educating him. It seems he needs help in that regard.” Meryn takes a threatening step towards her and she stares back unflinchingly.

Tyrion breaks the silence as he says, “Thank you, Lady Arya. Bronn-” _So that's his name._ “-The next time Ser Meryn speaks, kill him.” Arya nearly laughs at the horrified look that crosses Meryn’s face. “That was a threat. See the difference?” Arya has to actively bite her lip to resist smirking. 

Tommen looks to be doing the same when she turns to look at him, though his eyes remain full of concern, and he squeezes her just a bit tighter to him.

Tyrion descends the steps to go to Sansa’s side, the Lannister reaching out a gentle hand. Sansa places her own in his after a moment's hesitation, quiet gasps overtaking the room. Tyrion helps Sansa stand as Tommen does the same for Arya, the blond helping her to her feet.

However, even as Sansa releases Tyrion’s hand, Arya stays by Tommen’s side, unflinching as she slips a hand into his. He looks at her in surprise at the public show of affection, blush coating his cheeks, but Arya remains staring ahead. 

She’s sure any other time she would have been shamed for such an _improper_ display, but she and her sister had just been beaten for the entertainment of the king, so the remainder of the room stays silent.

They turn to leave the room behind Sansa and Tyrion, Arya barely listening as they converse. She leans into Tommen instead, the blonde whispering his own words to her.

“Are you alright?” She gives him a silent but strong nod even as she grimaces in pain. “What happened?” She simply shakes her head at the whisper, and Tommen doesn't push further. 

They continue on to leave the room, Sansa’s handmaiden and Ayana meeting them at the door. Ayana fusses at Arya’s other side, fingering the blooming bruise on her face and asking if she's alright in hurried whispers.

Arya only nods and attempts to smile at her handmaiden, but stays silent in her pain. 

When Arya, Tommen, and Ayana arrive at her room, she wants to dismiss her handmaiden but knows it will only be met with disapproval at the idea of her being left alone with Tommen in her room. _The scandal of it all_. Arya internally rolls her eyes at the thought, as if she actually cares about being proper. 

Ayana seats Arya on the bed as Tommen paces a few feet away, the dark-haired handmaiden rushing to tend to her wounds. She first sets on the bruise on her cheek, placing a gentle pile of ice to her face that she seemingly procured from nowhere.

“What in the gods happened there?” Arya and Ayana both startle at Tommen's near yell, neither having heard him raise his voice, ever.

“Meryn Trant was beating my sister, so I stepped in to stop him.” Arya states slowly.

“And got yourself beat in the process!” Arya’s calm expression turns into a scowl, matching the one on Tommen's face.

“I didn't exactly ask him to beat me, Tommen. But what was I supposed to do, let him hurt my sister and watch from the side?” Her voice remains steady in volume, even as it turns colder with each word.

“Yes! Or, no! I don't know! But you shouldn't have stepped in.” Tommen takes a step towards her and she can feel her lips curl further into a snarl at his words. 

“I shouldn't have stepped in? She’s my sister! I wasn’t going to watch her get hurt and do nothing about it!” Arya hates that she is shouting as loud as him, hates that he elicits such a reaction from her, but this is her sister they're talking about. 

This is _Sansa_. 

“But-”

“And why shouldn't I have stepped in, huh? Why not?” Tommen stammers at her shout, his eyes wide but no less angry. “Why?”

Arya rises to meet him as he steps closer again, but falls back to the bed at the pain in her stomach. Arya curls a hand around her stomach, breathing heavily as pain blossoms in her ribs. She thinks she hears Ayana shriek quietly as she rushes closer to her, and asks Tommen to leave to ensure Arya’s modesty, but she can't be sure. The sudden pressure of air in her ears makes it hard to hear at all.

The pressure resides and she can feel Ayana behind her, likely seated behind her in order to unlace her dress and push it down, the material pooling around her waist. 

Arya looks up sharply as Tommen cups her face, pointedly looking at only her face. Arya takes a sharp breath at his touch, Ayana pausing in the unlacing of Arya’s corset as she looks up and sees them in such a position.

Arya and Tommen's eyes are locked on each other, breaths mingling as he stares down at her. She swears his eyes dart down her lips before back up to her eyes, but then again, hers do the very same.

“I don't want to see you get hurt.” Tommen's voice is so incredibly gentle she almost forgets they were fighting a moment before. Arya refuses to admit how it makes her melt just the tiniest bit, as if she is one of the girls from the stories Sansa used to love, one of gallant princes and gentle princesses. Her hands come up to cup his elbows, and she wonders if he is going to kiss her.

“Your Grace, please. I must look at her wound, and for propriety's sake you must exit the room.” Tommen falters at Ayana’s words, stepping back, and Arya wants to curse her handmaiden as she closes her eyes. 

Then again, it isn’t Ayana’s fault. Guilt and disappointment alike lick up her spine, but Arya pushes it down.

“Yes, of course. I will visit you later, Arya.” Tommen pauses, and neither move as they lock eyes again. But Ayana coughs, and Tommen must get the hint because he practically sprints from the room.

Arya huffs as Ayana resumes unlacing her bodice, arms crossing.

“I told you he was interested in you.” Arya’s jaw drops, and she turns to look at Ayana, who pointedly does not look up but continues to smirk. 

The smirk turns to shrieks of laughter as Arya reaches to the head of the bed and grabs a pillow, wacking it at Ayana. It hits her square in the face and she falls back laughing as Arya mutters, “Little bitch.”

“I heard that!”

-

Hours later, after she and Tommen have met in the courtyard and sat several feet apart, both pretending they weren't thinking of what had happened in Arya’s room, Arya visits Sansa. Her sister is sitting up in bed, flipping through a book.

She looks up as Arya enters, frown melting into a smile. Arya crawls into her sister's bed, climbing under the covers and sitting a foot from her sister. Both Starks sit in silence for a moment, neither looking at the other. But Sansa breaks the silence.

“I’m sorry.” Arya turns to look at her, confusion etched onto her features.

“For what?”

Sansa pauses to think of the right phrasing before she speaks once more. “For every time we have fought. I know I was cruel to you when we were younger- not just younger. Recently as well. But you stood up for me today. I’m sorry you were hurt as a result.”

Arya shakes her head, turning to look at the redhead, “I can't say I didn't play a part in our sour relationship. But I also can't say it didn't hurt every time you insulted me or took someone else’s side than mine.” 

Sansa looks away in shame, but Arya reaches over and places a hand in hers. “But-” Sansa looks up, “-you’re my sister. And I forgive you. And you needn’t thank me for earlier, Joffrey had no right to do that for you.”

“It's alright. I’ve known he was cruel for a bit now.” Arya looks at her in surprise.

“But you seemed so taken with him. You always wanted a King for a husband.”

Sansa wrinkles her nose, even though she looks perfectly graceful doing it. “I did, once, but then I met Joffrey. He seemed lovely at first, but then everything happened with you and your friend, and Lady.” Both sisters frown at the thought of the direwolf, Arya’s thoughts turning to her own direwolf as well as Mycah’s death. “And I’m still betrothed to him, yes, but I wish I wasn’t. He is cruel, and merciless.”

Arya nods in agreement, tightening her hold on Sansa’s hand. “I agree. And after today, especially, I want us to be a united front.” Sansa looks at her in shock, but nods.

“I agree. We have fought too much, and now that we are truly stuck in the South, we can’t be divided. We are wolves of Winterfell. Even as I want to curse Joffrey every time he speaks badly of Robb or father, I can't.”

“I know. I wanted to stab him today when he spoke of Robb and the wolves.” Sansa giggles and Arya thinks of how the violence of the words would have made her gasp in shock and disgust just a year or two before. “Not everyone here is awful, though.” Arya muses. 

Sansa can’t refrain from another bout of giggles, and Arya turns with a raised brow in question at the reaction.

“Yes… you did seem very _taken_ with Prince Tommen in the hall.” Arya squawks in indignation, and Sansa’s giggles turn to loud laughs. 

“You take that back! No I am not!” Sansa only laughs harder, and Arya cannot help but join. As their laughter dies, Sansa pulls Arya closer to wrap an arm around her younger sister.

“It doesn't have to be bad you know.” Sansa comments, “I know you’ve never wanted to be a lady, and have never liked romance, but it's not bad.” She pulls back to stare into Arya’s eyes, and her words are full of steel, though she speaks with warmth instead of ice.

“Love is not a weakness, Arya.”

Arya smiles, and whispers a quiet, “I know,” before Sansa pulls her back into her arms.

“...He is quite handsome, you know.” Arya only groans at the redhead’s words, and Sansa laughs once more. But Arya cannot find it within herself to be truly angry. 

The two have finally reached a common ground, and her sister is right. Love is not a weakness. There is no point being ashamed of it, when in truth it can be such a strength.

-

A week later, the bruise on Arya’s cheek has nearly faded, and she can comfortably move without too much pain around her ribs. And so, with the knowledge she can move around without pain, Arya decides on stepping out of the Red Keep.

Arya knows she is a prisoner but is thoroughly bored from being stuck in her room all week, not to mention the weeks prior to the _incident_ in the Great Hall. It is all too easy to sneak past the guards at her door, having learned their schedules in the time she has been a prisoner.

There is about a twenty-second period where her guards break and switch to two new men, and they never check to actually see that Arya is in the room, either because they trust she is or because they just don't care, she doesn't know.

But she uses that short period to peak around the hall and practically sprint as fast as she can without drawing attention. It is early enough that many are still asleep, the halls practically empty besides a few servants.

As Arya passes them she gives each one a quiet “Hello” or small wave. She doesn't know all of their names yet, as it is hard to when contained inside one room, but she knows most of them. Arya aims to know the rest of the names by the end of the month. 

Most of them know her as well, either by face or name recognition, and respond to her greeting wholeheartedly. 

She slips down to the kitchens where one of the cooks, Lina, slips her a few rolls and a smile before Arya strides right out of the castle, quietly chewing on the rolls as she goes. 

She had been able to slip on her simplest dress before she had left, one that was pale blue and hopefully wouldn't draw too much attention. The top layer of her hair is braided back in tight twin plaits starting at her forehead, meeting in the back to form a bun, similar to the usual styles that Ayana put her in, albeit a bit more simple. 

Arya hopes she won't be recognized, at least not immediately, but also knows there's no point to it really. She looks clean and dressed up to be anything but highborn, even with the simple dress. 

Not to mention Needle strapped to her waist, which Arya knows any smith could classify as castle-forged steel within a moment. Besides, how many other ladies have rapiers strapped to their sides? 

It is quite obvious she is Arya Stark, or at least of the North, her dark hair and overall look easy to identify as Northern. That paired with her outfit makes her easy to identify as Arya Stark.

But Arya pays no mind to the stares she receives as she wanders through Flea Bottom, opting instead to gaze at the world around her. She’s barely been out of her room the past month and a half, nevermind the castle itself.

She’s missed the feel of the sun on her face and the fresh air, despite the air in Flea Bottom not being the nicest. As she walks, Arya smiles at the people strolling about, even as they falter as they recognize her and attempt to curtsy or bow before she has passed them completely.

Arya attempts to converse with bakers and other people, asking how their day is or if they need any help even as they stammer at her presence. The familiar sound of wood clashing dully drives her to a small area, where two boys are sparring with sticks, similar to how she had with Mycah so long ago when she had first arrived in King's Landing.

“You should stand side-face.” The boys jump at her voice, turning to look at her in shock. They have to be eight at the oldest. One bows, the other just staring, but both mutter “Lady Stark” out of politeness.

Arya ignores the title, crouching down to lift the hand of one of the boys instead, raising the wooden stick still clenched in his grasp. They watch her movements with understandable bewilderment: it isn't exactly common for a high born girl to visit Flea Bottom, much less know about swords and how to hold them.

“Why?” Arya is anything but bothered by the lack of title in the question, even as the boy opposite to him hisses a quiet warning to him.

“Makes for a smaller target. Harder to hit.” She smiles as the boy turns his feet and body to the side, standing to continue on her way. Within the next two hours, a considerable amount of the people have relaxed as she loops around the town, a few conversing with her with less nervousness than they had possessed originally. 

By the time she heads back to the Red Keep, she knows many of their names and has already promised to come back soon to visit Aldo and his wife, a kind elderly couple from the bakery.

When she walks up the steps of the castle, Arya sees the guards all turning to look at each other in surprise, but she only rolls her eyes and continues on. As she enters the Red Keep, she spots Tommen, who is turned away.

A smile overtakes her face as she quietly sneaks up behind him, grinning openly as he shrieks as her hand lands on his shoulders. He turns to see her, his smile softening and breathing deeply, a hand placed on his chest.

“Arya! You scared me! Where did you come from?” She laughs as Tommen continues to try and control his breathing.

“I went and visited Flea Bottom. I was quite bored all cooped up in my room.” He widens his eyes in surprise at her words but is pleasantly otherwise unbothered at the idea of her going to Fleas Bottom. _Good_ , she thinks to herself, _Cercei would throw a fit if she knew I went. Or my mother would._

“And? How was it?” He cocks his head in question, but Arya’s smile only grows at his interest. Most lords and ladies would have wrinkled their noses in disgust, but not Tommen.

“It was nice, really. The people there are so kind, I just wish their conditions were better.”

“I agree. The air is awful and many of them are so poor, it doesn't make sense that they should live in such harsh conditions while we live like this.” Tommen’s arms sweep out and he looks around, as if referring to the castle as a whole. Arya’s heart only warms more.

“Yes! It’s unfair we get to live lavishly while they don’t.” She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, and it doesn't go unnoticed how Tommen’s eyes track the motion. “I know it's easy for me to say such a thing, having grown up in a castle and never having experienced their conditions, but I still feel for them.”

Tommen's eyes soften further, if even possible. “Maybe you’ve grown up in a castle, as a Stark, but that doesn’t make your life significantly easier. Life has still been unjustly hard on you.” 

Her smile falls as she thinks of Bran’s fall nearly two years ago, of her father, of the beating she and her sister had experienced. But her gaze returns to Tommen's as he steps closer and lays a hand on her shoulder, “But you are the strongest person I know, despite everything.”

Her smile returns and she brings a hand up to the one Tommen has placed on her shoulder, lacing their fingers and letting their hands drop to between them, still joined. 

And in that moment, just for a second, they are not Prince Tommen Baratheon of King's Landing or Lady Arya Stark of Winterfell. They are just a boy and a girl, holding hands in an empty hall, matching smiles on their faces and hammering hearts inside their chest. 

Arya can't help but think of how right his hand feels in her own.

**Author's Note:**

> basically in this au girls can be set to marry girls, and boys can marry boys. think of the older generation such as tywin and cersei and the adults as boomers who don’t love having the same gender together, but accept it when it’s a good political match. in terms of children, the pairs can adopt or having a sibling’s child rule or something. basically i had to include this bc gay rights!!


End file.
